


This Afternoon

by callmeautumn



Series: Time [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is a Good Professor, Fluff, I hope you don't mind., I keep writing fics that revolve around Draco wearing Harry's sweaters, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, internalized prejudice towards sex work, mentions of past sex-work, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27411811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeautumn/pseuds/callmeautumn
Summary: “Professor Harry was wearing a very similar sweater to yours yesterday - so similar it could be the same one. Would you happen to know anything about that?”“Did he really? How fascinating.” He pauses, lets her squirm and sit at the edge of anticipation. Serves her right for asking in the middle of class. The rest of the room goes suspiciously silent, all of his students pretending to carry on with their work as they listen for his response. “To answer your question: yes. I would happen to know something about that.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448977
Comments: 6
Kudos: 162





	This Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely commenter suggested adding a work or two onto my Time series. I found that I couldn't resist! This is just a bit of fluff, and a look into Draco and Harry's life as Professors at Hogwarts. This can be read as a stand-alone, but it will make marginally more sense if read as part of the series!

“Draco?” 

He doesn’t have students use honorifics. It unnerves him, makes him feel dirty and undeserving of this second chance; at least, more undeserving than he usually does. 

“Yes, Melanie?” A Hufflepuff who just as easily could have been a Slytherin. She’s frighteningly clever and incredibly curious, traits Draco enjoys encouraging in all his students. 

“Professor Harry was wearing a very similar sweater to yours yesterday - so similar it could be the same one. Would you happen to know anything about that?” That’s the other thing about Melanie: she’s bold as brass and a shameless gossip. But Pansy was twice as subtle and thrice as venomous, and the lessons learned on the wrong end of her tongue have made Draco a master at managing fifteen-year-old girls with a modicum of dignity. 

“Did he really? How fascinating.” He pauses, lets her squirm and sit at the edge of anticipation. Serves her right for asking in the middle of class. The rest of the room goes suspiciously silent, all of his students pretending to carry on with their work as they listen for his response. “To answer your question: yes. I would happen to know something about that.” 

They decided early on that they wouldn’t hide their relationship, but neither would they announce it from the rooftops. Draco had tied himself into knots about acting the part of a responsible, personable professor; somebody students would feel safe going to in a time of crisis; the professor he desperately needed all those years ago. Harry, bless his golden retriever heart, was happy enough to go with whatever Draco wanted, provided they could still see each other. They do, of course - rather often now that they share Draco’s quarters. 

“Mine are so far away from my classroom,” Harry had groaned one evening. “And the moving stairs were fun when I was twelve, but the appeal has worn off now that I’m nearly thirty.” 

Draco had rolled his eyes and reminded Harry that 27 was hardly ancient. And yet, impressionable, love-struck sod that he is, he’d asked Harry the next morning if staying in Draco’s quarters more often would make his morning easier. Harry had lit up like the sun, promised not to leave messes everywhere (an unkept promise) and not get in Draco’s way (another unkept promise, but one Draco minds infinitely less). 

That was nearly three months ago, and they’ve fallen into some terribly domestic patterns. Grading assignments together at the kitchen table; afternoon tea during their shared free period; spending long evenings on the couch, Draco reading and enjoying a foot massage whilst Harry listens to the news. It’s a world of intimacy entirely foreign to Draco, but he enjoys exploring it with Harry, finding what suits them as a couple (quiet mornings, spontaneous dance breaks, braiding each other’s hair, long naps) and what doesn’t (board games, pet names, muggle television, vegan meat-substitutes). 

Moving in together, wonderful as it has been, has certainly been a learning process. He learns that he can’t stand water pools on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t mind dishes left in the sink overnight. He learns that Harry has a rightful aversion to cooking and cleaning, but takes great joy in making the bed each morning and organizing their closets and dressers. He also learns that Harry wears clothes multiple times between washes. 

“They don’t smell,” he argues, “and they aren’t stained. So why call them dirty? Why not just wear them again?” 

Draco had tried, on multiple occasions, to explain the merits of washing clothes after wearing them, had insisted that past the age of thirteen it just wasn’t okay to do that. But Harry wouldn’t budge, would just raise his left eyebrow and plant his feet, and Draco knows there are certain battles he simply isn’t going to win. 

That capitulation, of course, has led to this moment. Leaving in a hurry after a morning quickie that became a longie Draco didn’t actually have time for, he’d grabbed the first sweater in the drawer. Halfway to his classroom he realized the sleeves were too long and the weave too loose for the sweater to be his. But turning back would mean being late to class, and he wasn’t ashamed of Harry. (How could he be? Harry is literally the saviour of the British wixen world. Draco is a convicted felon and former prostitute. He didn’t exactly get the short end of this relationship stick). So he’d charged forward into his first-year potions class, carefully cuffed his sleeves, and largely managed to forget the sweater was Harry’s. At least, until Melanie Abreu in his Fifth Year Advanced Potions class. 

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Her tone is dangerously close to impertinence. “No further comment?” 

“I know I do not insist on honorifics, Ms. Abreu, but I am still your professor and whilst we may be friendly, I cannot be your friend. As such, it would be wildly inappropriate of me to keep you abreast of the minutiae of my personal life.” He works hard to keep his tone kind but firm, very aware that he is drawing a line in the sand that all his students will take note of. “Return to your work, Melanie - don’t make Arthur carry your weight.” 

She flushes, embarrassed, and returns to her potion with a soft _yes, sir_. Draco is, of course, an impressionable, soft-hearted sod who can't bear to tread on his students' spirits, even when they're shameless gossips and terribly impertinent. So he sighs quietly and says “Five points to Hufflepuff for keen observational skills.” 

Melanie doesn’t look up from her chopping, but she does smile and elbow her partner, who elbows her back enthusiastically. Draco rolls his eyes, enjoys his own smile, and looks forward to telling Harry this story over dinner tonight. 


End file.
